Getting Better
by FlowerChild17
Summary: Paul is crushed when Linda McCartney, his wife, passes away. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to move on. But that's before he meets Jillian, a flame-haired bright-spirited dancer from New York. Ties with my other story, Something.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello :) As I promised, here is the Paul fanfiction. **

**I never planned to write a Paul fanfiction - I'm writing it because I (stupidly) introduced a love angle for Paul in another story of mine and forgot to finish it :P I've read hundreds of Paul fanfictions before and none of them have stood out in my memory. I'm sure there must be some but I haven't read them yet. My aim here is to write a Paul story that is completely unique - one you'll never forget :) I'm not sure I'll manage that, but I'm going to try! :D So please review and tell me what you think. **

**The story begins with Paul's depression at Linda's death, but don't worry, it will pick up soon. **

* * *

**Getting Better **

**Chapter One: Hours of Darkness**

Paul's POV

I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling.

The times I've woken up and stared at this very ceiling, except with Linda lying by my side ...

I don't understand. In my life, I've been through a lot - good and bad: my mother dying, my bandmate Stu dying, breaking up with various girlfriends and wives, the pressure that comes with being famous - they all hurt. But somehow, she seemed to wash them all away with the happiness she gave me - Linda, my lovely wife, the only person I've ever loved that much. And she had to die. Of all the people God could've picked to take away, it had to be her. It had to be her. Hell, it'd be simpler if it'd been _me _dead and her living. At least for me it would.

I roll over and lift my guitar by the neck from where it lies on the floor, then roll over again onto my back, resting the guitar on my stomach. My fingers slid along the cool strings, its smooth neck, spinning music out of the air. It sends warm vibrations through my chest. My comfort, making music.

Shouldn't people be used to the idea of dying by now? It happens all the time, doesn't it? So why is it so fucking _hard _when someone dies? We've all been through this before. People are born - people die. It's the fate that everyone meets, in the end. It's not like her death was sudden. It crept up slowly, infected her body, sucked the life slowly away from her like some parasite. It hung over her face, in her sunken features and graying skin. My beautiful Linda, slowly withering, being pulled away. I knew it for months. She knew it for even longer.

She came to terms with the idea of dying long before she left. I watched her everyday folding bits of her life and putting them away - putting them to rest - so that it would all be settled when she left. She had it all thought out, all figured - she was prepared. So why wasn't I?

And why _don't _I? It's been seven months. Seven fucking months and nothing's changed. I can't even begin to ask my mind to pull itself away from her. Sure, I can get up and walk around and go to the studio and do whatever's expected of me. I can do that. But I can't move on. I haven't quite accepted it, haven't quite figured it out, haven't even begun to console myself or think of the future or think of _anything_, for that matter, but her.

Linda, my lovely wife.

But it's time, I tell myself. It's time to get up and get out and begin to live again. It's time to move on. This is not what she would have wanted. I sit up and pull on my shoes. I don't know where I plan to go, just now that I must stop wallowing in sadness and memories. I put one arm through the arm of my coat. The other one hangs.

I turn around and fall back onto my bed again and stare at the ceiling.

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**This chapter is a bit of a drag I know - but the story will start soon, I promise. Please review! -Jen. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you 023Faust and TheBeatlesMopTops for the reviews! :) I know that in the summary it says that this story ties with my other story Something, but you don't have to have read that to read this. There are some references to it though. For those of you who don't know, Angie is George's girlfriend and Jillian used to be her roommate years ago. That's all ya need to know! :) **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Getting Better **

**Chapter Two: Yesterday**

'Good morning my dearest, time to wake up!' sings John through the door in a high-pitched girly voice. I groan and turn over, willing him to go away. 'Paulie my lovely, wakey wakey!'

_Why? Why are you doing this to me? _

'Sod off!' I yell.

'Well that's not a nice thing to say now, is it?' John sounds hurt.

'I mean it.'

'Did you hear that, Ringo? He means it.'

Good. I hope that means he's going to _leave me alone. _

The door bursts open without warning and John and Ringo barrel in. They grab hold of my arms and drag me out of my bed. 'Good morning sunshine!' screeches Ringo happily. I scream and try to claw my way back to the bed, but they won't let me. 'We're taking ya out today.'

'What?' I demand. 'I don't want to go out!' I know my mates are trying to make me feel better and I'm glad, but I really don't want to go out right now.

'_I don't want to go out!_' John mimicks me. 'Like it or not Macca, yer getting out today!'

I groan, admitting defeat, and get ready. George is there too, sitting on my sofa and drinking tea. I must remember to get my locks changed - god only knows why I gave these lads spare keys to my house.

Half an hour later, sitting in the car, I sigh resignedly. 'Where are we going?'

'It's a surprise, but we can only get there if George gets outta the driver's seat and lets me drive!' says John. George shakes his head. 'I'm not letting ya touch my baby!' he gasps, putting his arms around the steering wheel. 'Now hand over those keys, Lennon.'

'Never!' shrieks John, clutching the keys. 'Just get outta the seat will ya Harrison.'

Next to me, Ringo is humming happily in his own world.

'Aren't ya too young ter drive anyway?' demands John.

'I am not!' says George indignantly. He's normally not one to get into fights with John, but even I wouldn't let John drive my car.

There passes a long moment of silence. 'Well,' I say sarcastically, 'This sure was fun, we _must _do it again sometime. See ya!' I begin to get out of the car, but all three scream, 'NO!' George slams his hand on the locks and Ringo and John dive at me, laying on top of me so I can't move a muscle. 'Get - the fuck - off - me,' I choke. They get off and George finally relents, grumbling at John. 'One scratch, and yer dead,' he says menacingly to John as he climbs out of the driver's seat and into the passenger's seat. John skips around the car. 'Sure thing Georgie.' We finally begin to drive.

We're at an old diner that we used to come to all the time as teenagers. 'For a good ol' meal of fish and chips!' says George happily. Hmm ... I guess I don't mind fish and chips right now.

When we're done eating - after George tries to steal some of Ringo's chips, which results in a scuffle - we go to Strawberry Fields and hang out there. I feel a little better and I'm thankful to my bandmates. But as we sit in Strawberry Fields and the sun begins to go in, Linda is heavy on my thoughts again and I'm down. John, George and Ringo seem to sense this, so they drop me off at my house. I wander the empty house for a little while and then find myself going to my cupboard and pulling on a disguise: a fake beard and dark glasses, the kind of hat George would've worn, a coat. I board the first bus that I find and sit down.

In front of me there sits a girl. She has red hair. It's beautiful really - bright and fiery and curly and wild, all over the place. It's like a handful of flames in the wind. Her window is open and the air that rushes in, which is smokey and city-scented and still somehow refreshing, throws her fiery hair all over the place. There's a memory connected to red hair like this girl's - I struggle for a moment to find it - it's very deeply hidden in my mind. I uncover a bit of it. _Yesterday_ ... I find myself humming the tune. And then I remember! Jillian. Angie's roommate Jillian.

FLASHBACK

_and then I noticed a girl behind Angie. 'This is Jillian,' said Angie, stepping to the side a little because she was hiding behind her. 'Jillian - John, Ringo, Paul, George. We're going to find places in the crowd.' She kissed the top of George's head and blew a kiss for the rest of us and disappeared. But before she left, I got a good look at the girl behind her. She was tall, with the most interesting hair I had ever seen: it was red and curly and wild, like fire, and it was beautiful._

_The first song we were going to play that night was Yesterday._

_I had written that song a while ago. It was a sad song - I'd written it after Jane, my longtime girlfriend, left me. It was one of the deepest songs I'd written - something that truly reflected the way I felt then - and for some reason, the thought of performing it made me nervous, a little. It was the first time I was performing it - and I would be playing it alone - but I had done this a million times before, performing new things, and I'd never been nervous before, so why now? Maybe because it was more emotional and meaningful than most of the songs we normally played. Whatever it was, my hands were sweating by the time I picked up my guitar to walk onto stage. I tightened my clammy grip around the guitar, so that it wouldn't slip through, and walked on stage with the other lads. John was saying something witty and amusing to the crowd, who were going crazy - screaming and wailing hysterically - but I wasn't listening to him. Instead, I was searching the crowd for faces. I found Angie - she was mouthing something to George, who was smiling. And next to her was the fire-haired girl - what was her name? Jillian. She was looking at me. Her eyes were hazel and brown, and they were on me. Most of the eyes in that room were on me - but hers actually meant something. When she saw me looking at her, I smiled nervously. She returned it, a warm reassuring smile, as if she knew what was going on in my head._

_It was time - John and George were walking off stage. I couldn't see Ringo on the drum kit behind me. I tapped the mic with one hand to make sure it was working, not like I could hear anyway over the roar the crowd was making, and opened my mouth to sing. It felt all wrong. This song felt too - personal - to be singing to these unknown people. My mouth was open but my voice was gone._

_I found her face again. She nodded at me encouragingly and smiled._

_The smile made my voice come back. My fingers remembered themselves on the guitar, remembered what they were supposed to do. My voice was back._

_I opened my mouth and began to sing the song for her._

* * *

I remember her from that concert ages ago. I took her out for dinner that night after the concert - and then I met her the next morning in Angie's house and took her out for breakfast. Of course, I didn't see her after that because Angie and George broke up, and the next time they got back together, Angie wasn't living with her anymore.

The more I look at those mesmerizing, dancing curls, the more I'm sure it's got to be her. I stand up to reach out and tap her shoulder, and then a weird thought consumes me. I sit down. For the first time in seven months, my thoughts have been lifted from Linda. Even though the boys may have made me think of other things while we were out, she was still constantly on my mind. But for a second - just for a second - when I was trying to remember whose redheaded curls I've seen before - she wasn't.

That has to be good.

I stand up again and tap her shoulder. She looks around. It's her! It's Jillian. She gives me this weird look. 'Can I help you?' Doesn't she recognize me? Who can forget that they had dinner with Paul McCartney? Dinner _and _breakfast? Oh, right. I'm wearing a disguise. Stupid me. I tear off the beard and dark glasses. 'Do you remember me?'

Her brown eyes widen. 'Paul!' she gasps. 'Of course I remember you.' She smiles. 'Who can forget that they had dinner with Paul McCartney?'

I grin widely. 'Dinner _and _breakfast,' I correct her, smiling.

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**I hope you liked it! :) Revew please. -Jen**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much for the reviews :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize.**

* * *

**Getting Better**

**Chapter Three: Words of Wisom**

Paul's POV

The sidewalk sways under my feet a little as the bus pulls away and continues down the street. As I watch it, a head of brilliant red curls sticks out of the window and Jillian waves to me. I smile to myself and walk the rest of the way home, the small slip of paper with her number on it gripped tightly in my hand.

I go up to my room and lie down on my bed. I feel a little giddy and a little guilty. As I lie there, the giddiness fades and the guilt grows. My wife has just died. I shouldn't even be _thinking _of dating other women. _I'm sorry, Linda. _But then, Linda wouldn't have wanted me to mourn for her forever. She'd've wanted me to move on. Now I'm just confused.

I fall asleep sooner than usual, though. It's not an easy sleep and when I wake I'm no less confused then before, but at least it's sleep.

* * *

In the morning, Brian calls and says that John's not well, so we don't have to go to the studio today. I decide that I need to talk to someone about this. I used to talk to Linda about all my problems, but now I can't. I put on my shoes and go to George's house. I can talk to Angie about this - she was Jillian's roommate. And I can talk to George too - it doesn't look it, but he's pretty good at giving advice.

George opens the door. He's still wearing his pyjamas. 'We don't have to go to the studio today,' he says as soon as he sees me. 'Didn't Brian tell you? John's pretending to be sick so he can hang out with Yoko.' He says _Yoko _with distaste.

'Good morning to you too,' I say pleasantly. 'I just wanted ta talk to me mate!'

George looks suspicious, but he lets me in. He leads me through the living room and goes into his room, but I stop dead in the living room because there's Jillian.

This is not what I need right now.

She's sitting on the sofa with her back to me, but there's no mistaking that crazy red hair. Opposite from her sits Angie, George's girlfriend, who also happens to be my best friend from our childhood. 'Hey, Paul,' says Angie, she smiles and hugs me. 'Do you remember Jillian from New York? She's staying in London for a while now.'

Jillian grins at me. 'Long time no see,' she jokes. I smile weakly. 'Yeah,' I manage. 'Paul and I ran into each other yesterday on the bus,' she explains to Angie.

George comes out of his room frowning after realising that I didn't follow him. 'Didn't ya say ya wanted to me?'

'Yes!' I exclaim, going into his room. _Thank you, George, my saviour. _I shut the door firmly.

George sits on the floor with his guitar on his lap, waiting for me to begin. I fumble with my words. 'Ya wanted to talk to me about something?' he prompts me gently.

'Yes, about that,' I jab my thumb towards the direction of the drawing room. 'What?' asks George, puzzled. 'The wall?'

I roll my eyes. 'Real clever, George, I came here to talk to you about the wall.' I fold my arms. 'I'm rather concerned for its health, it does look a bit peaky today doesn't it?'

George looks hurt. 'Well, what do ya wanta talk about? Yer not being very clear!'

'Jillian,' I state. Damn, was that too loud? I hope she didn't hear me.

'What about her?'

'I met her on the bus yesterday and she gave me her number and I don't know if it's okay to start seeing other women yet because it's so soon after Linda passed away but she would've wanted me to move on and I don't know if it's time to move on yet but I know I need to move on because I can't keep mourning her forever and I think Jillian is really nice,' I babble hysterically.

George listens to my ranting calmly and then nods. 'Well Paulie, since it has been seven months and counting since Linda passed away, I think it should be perfectly alright for you to talk to Jillian,' he says. 'But take it slow, yeah?'

'Thank you Georgie!' I beam and throw my arms around a bemused George and then run out to the living room. 'Jillian,' I say, 'How would you like to go out and get some lunch with me?'

'Dinner, breakfast _and _lunch with Paul McCartney,' she says, counting all three off her fingers. 'All three accomplished! I would like that very much.'

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**Please review and tell me what you think! :) -Jen. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, here's chapter 4 :) I'm sorry that it's a little short. I'm not used to writing Paul fics, I'm only used to writing about George! I've tried though. :P **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Getting Better**

**Chapter Four: I'll Follow The Sun**

They don't call me Paul McCharmly for nothing.

As we leave George's house, Angie grins and gives me a thumbs-up. I remember she's the one who introduced Jillian to me first. Out on the streets, I ask Jillian, 'Well, what do ya wanta do?'

'Lunch,' she states. 'I am starving. A dancer needs her food.'

_That's right, she's a dancer_, I remember. 'Lunch it is!' I say happily, and I'm glad - I didn't eat anything this morning and my stomach is growling in annoyance. Which is weird, I haven't felt hungry in seven months. We go to a small little diner where I won't attract too much attention, and over lunch Jillian and I talk a lot, because we don't really know each other that well ... yet. 'So, how come you're in London right now?' I ask her.

'Well, I heard there are some good shows around here,' Jillian says. 'I have a couple of auditions later today ... maybe I'll get something there. Right now I'm staying with Angie, but I'll get my own place as soon as I find a job.'

The waitress arrives and taps her heel impatiently because we haven't looked at our menus yet. Her attitude changes when she sees me. Just part of being a Beatle.

Jillian tells me that she ran away from her parents after high school because they had ideas of her becoming an engineer and she just wanted to be a dancer. So she went to New York and met Angie. Both of them, newly independent and looking for jobs, shared an apartment. I tell her about the band and how it was formed - turns out she's a fan, which is good.

After lunch we walk around the nearby park, talking about general things, and then she has to go to get ready for an audition. I drop her off at Angie's and then I go home and wander aimlessly around. Because now that she's gone, my thoughts are so heavily saturated with Linda's death and Jillian's absence.

It's like being in the sun: when you're outside in the sunlight, everything's brighter, but when you go in, it's even darker inside than it was before you went out.

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**Please review and tell me what you think! :) Ideas would be helpful too. Thanks for reading! -Jen. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Purely a fluff chapter. :D Sorry about that, if you don't like fluff. I, personally, am a huge fan of fluff because it rounds out the story nicely. :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Yesterday**

**Chapter Five: I Get High With A Little Help From My Friends**

In the morning, the second I wake up I decide to go to over to George's because Jillian will be there. I open the door and it's pouring. Waterfalls cascading from the sky. I curse and grab an umbrella before heading out again.

When I ring the doorbell, nobody answers. Then I see George and Angie outside on the lawns of George's big house, soaked to the skin and chasing each other like children. I watch them for a moment and think that what the two of them have is what Lin and I had. Could it be called True Love? That's a very clichéd term. From the shelter of the doorstep, I watch George grab Angie's outstretched hand as she tried to run away and wrap his arms around her waist and they both crash to the ground, laughing. Rain dribbles off my umbrella and onto my shoes, which I'm dismayed to find are mud-spattered. Angie's seen me, she's trying to get George to get up from the muddy grass but he's pretending to be dead. She gets up and comes towards me, covered from head to toe in mud. 'Hello,' she says pleasantly, grinning at my expression. 'Give me a hug, Paulie!' I gasp in horror as she extends her muddy arms towards me. 'Kidding,' she giggles. 'You don't hafta hug me now. What brings you here?'

'Um. Jillian,' I say.

She grins. 'Knew it,' she says. 'I'm glad you're moving on.' She looks at me carefully. She's got this uncanny ability to read me - and most people - like a book. 'Are you feeling guilty?' See, I told you. It's like it's written on my face for her to see.

'A little,' I admit, there's no use lying to her.

'It's okay,' she says. 'It'll take a while to get used to it. But Jillian's a great girl and I know you'll get along well with her.' Angie opens the door and I follow her in. She gathers her long wet hair and wrings it. 'I think she's awake,' she says. 'Why don't you go check?'

George appears from outside then. 'Here again, Macca?' he says, grinning.

'Only because I love you so much, Georgie.' I bat my eyelashes at George flirtatiously.

'Ah, that's good, because I have a present for you.' George beams. He beckons me closer with his hands behind his back. He takes his hands out from behind. 'Look in there,' he says, jerking his chin towards his hands, which are closed around something. I bend my face down to see and receive a huge, slimy mudball on my face.

'Only because I love you so much, Paulie,' he says innocently in that second when I'm so overwhelmed that all I can do is gasp with my mouth open.

'I WILL KILL YOU!' I scream as George shouts with laughter and races to the other end of the room. He grabs a cushion from the sofa and holds it up defensively. Angie's doubled up on the floor, convulsed in laughter. Despite myself I'm laughing too. I scoop up mud from my face and from the floor and raise my hand to hurl it at George

- when Jillian comes into the living room in her pyjamas and makes a surprised O with her mouth at the sight of the three of us - two soaked to the skin and one with a muddy face - me with mud in my outstretched hand, ready to throw. I'm left gasping and fumbling for words because Jillian has just come in and there's mud all over my face and this is not the type of scenario in which my type of charm helps. 'I ...' I stammer, dumbstruck. George takes the opportunity to sneak around me and take the mud out of my hands. He goes over to Jillian, who's equally dumbstruck, and very calmly slops it on her red curls.

Which is the cue for the crazy mud fight to begin.

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**I'm sorry for the amount of George-Angie I put in. I just miss writing about them! :/ The mud fight was inspired by a similar fight we had in school today. :D Love the rain! Please review. :) -Jen. **


	6. Chapter 6

**I feel like re-writing the last chapter since I just watched Woodstock and all the hippies dancing in the mud and rain :) But I've got to get on with the story. Important chappie, this one. ;) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Getting Better**

**Chapter Six: I'm a Loser**

I hum as I scrub the mud off my chest and hands and hair where it's caked and rub soap all over myself. When I come out of the bathroom, in some of George's clothes that I've borrowed, George and Angie are still out there playing in the rain - I can see them through the window, skidding through the mud hand-in-hand - and Jillian's still in the shower in her room, so I sit on her bed and wait. She comes out after ten minutes and she looks so strange that I can't stop staring at her: her beautiful red hair is _straight_. I know it's only because it's wet, but Jillian with straight hair is like ... like Ringo with a small nose. It's just not _right_. 'What?' she says self-consciously, pausing while she brushes her hair out.

'Your hair,' I state. I get up and take a fistful of her hair and crazy it up a little. 'Hey!' she says indignantly but by the time I get my hands out of her hair, it's wild enough.

'Now, what are you doing here?' Jillian asks.

'I wanted to see ya,' I say earnestly.

'Oh,' she says, grinning and blushing at the same time. 'Where do you want to go?'

'It's raining,' I say. I glance out of the window - grey, grey, grey. I'm not in the mood to get wet and muddy twice in the same day. Then I remember something. 'How did your audition go?'

'I got it!' Jillian shouts happily, throwing her arms around me. I hug her back and then she lets go. 'Well, I don't have anything planned for today ... except an _epic _mud fight.'

'That,' I say, smiling wide, 'was _awesome_.' Though I did ruin a whole set of clothes. And a pair of shoes. And a bunch of chords I'd written on a paper that was in my pocket. And my wristwatch.

'Wait!' says Jillian suddenly. 'I'm _hungry_. We have _got _to eat something before we do anything.'

'Okay,' I say. I like girls with good appetites. 'What do ya want to eat?'

'I want to make a feast,' decides Jillian. 'We are going to cook something _amazing_. What do you know how to make?'

'Umm ...' I think for a moment. 'Mashed potatoes?'

'Good enough,' she says. 'I can make bread and chicken to go with that.'

'And something for dessert!' I exclaim. 'We can't forget that!'

'No, we can't,' she agrees. 'How about ... chocolate lava cakes.'

I pretend to faint. 'I want choco lava cakes,' I moan dramatically, and she giggles, which pleases me, because that's what I intended. 'C'mon,' she says, dragging me up by the wrist. 'Let's get cracking!'

I find George's record player and turn it up, way high. It's playing Twist and Shout. I grab Jillian by the waist and we dance to the kitchen, where we spend the next three hours making the most delicious and complicated meal ever. Then we lay the table and sit down and eat like starved people.

Though the meal we've cooked together is delicious, it's not enough to distract me from how beautiful Jillian really is. Her beautiful wild red hair frames her heart-shaped face, smooth pale skin stretched across high cheekbones, a graceful nose - pink lips and a pointed chin. She's wearing huge silver peace-symbol earrings that I assume she's borrowed from Angie. She catches me looking. 'What?' she says self-consciously.

'Nothing, you have a bit of chocolate on your nose.' I reach across and wipe the fleck of chocolate from the tip of her nose and then I kiss her. Soon we're kissing and I'm leading her to her room, and I've slipped my hands around to unbutton her white shirt and throw it to the floor, and her mouth on mine erases every single thought from my mind

except for

This is wrong.

I'm a married man

I have children

I have a wife

I gasp, 'Linda.'

Jillian breaks away from me. 'What did you say?' Her brown eyes are dangerous.

'I - I -' I can't quite find the right words. Silence stretches, strains; falls.

Jillian's eyes are killing me. She gets up from the bed and walks away, not even bothering to pick up her shirt before she slams the door and leaves me alone in her room, sitting on her bed, shirtless, feeling stupid. Numbly I pick up my shirt and drag it. It takes five minutes of struggling absentmindedly to realize that I'm trying to put my head through the sleeve, and when I do pull it on it's inside out and lopsided. I don't care enough to fix it. I decide that I owe Jillian an explanation. I have to find her.

But she's not in the house, and her shoes and coat aren't by the door. I didn't notice the lateness of the hour before - it's nighttime outside, past ten. I sit down on the floor for a good half an hour, trying to think of what to do, but my mind is drawing blanks. I need someone to talk to.

And there's been one person who I've talked to about everything since I was thirteen, and it's that person I need to talk to now. So I go and knock on Angie's door.

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**Poor Paulie. Review to find out what happens next! -Jen. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Poor Paulie. Here is a chapter from Jillian's side. Short, I know, but I shall have another one up soon. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Getting Better**

**Chapter Seven: Don't Hurt My Pride Like Hers**

Jillian's POV

Tears stream from my eyes as I leave Paul sitting helplessly on my bed and slam the door behind me. I'm wearing only my pants and a bra - I left my shirt in the room - so I grab my coat and button it up all the way, and stick my feet in shoes, and leave the house.

It's still raining.

He said another woman's name ... _Linda_, he said ... And I thought he cared about me. Clearly, I'm just a filler for another woman he can't have. I should've known, rock star like him. It's just that he struck me as so ... _nice_. Nice and understanding and thoughtful. Different, really.

It's cold out here. I pull up the hood of the coat over my red curly hair. Paul must be the only man who's ever liked my wild hair. The wind blows rain into my face and I pull my coat tighter around myself. I wish I hadn't left the house. It's not cold and rainy in there and I could use someone to talk to. I wait till the tears are all gone and all that's left on my face is rain, and then I go back to the house. I leave my sodden coat and shoes by the door and retrieve my shirt from the room before going to knock on Angie's door.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you so much for the reviews! :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Getting Better **

**Chapter Eight: I Need You**

Paul's POV

I wait outside Angie's door, my feet cold on the bare floor. She takes a couple of minutes to open it. She's wearing an oversize t-shirt that belongs to George and her long, normally straight dark hair is mussed up - by the looks of it, I've interrupted something. But this is too important to wait. I have to talk to her. I know that if she needed to talk to me about something important, I wouldn't put her off till later. 'What's up?' she says.

I guess she reads enough from my face - I've been told that I wear my heart on my sleeve, and matched with her uncanny ability to read people, that's not surprising - because she leads me to the sofa and tells me to sit. She disappears into her and George's room for a second and I hear low voices, and then she comes back out, this time wearing her own pyjamas. 'What happened?' she asks.

I take a deep breath and let it escape loud and noisy over my lips. 'Jillian and I,' I croak. Angie waits patiently. 'We were - we were having dinner, and then we went to her room - and while we were kissing - I said - I said Linda's name.'

Angie waits some more for me to finish. 'It wasn't that I was thinking of Linda exactly - I was just thinking - that it wasn't quite right for me to do that with Jillian - because Linda's my wife - and it's like I was cheating.'

Angie nods. 'You felt guilty.'

'Yeah,' I whisper.

She strokes my hand gently. 'Marriage vows only last as long as both of you are still here,' she reminds me gently. 'Do you think that Linda wants you to be lonely forever?'

_Does she? Of course she doesn't_.

'Jillian is a great girl,' continues Angie. 'She'll understand that you need time if you explain it to her.'

_Explain it to her? _That doesn't sound easy. 'She's kind of mad at me right now,' I mumble.

'Redhead temper,' says Angie. 'She'll listen to you, you'll see.'

Suddenly, I see how right she is. Jillian is a wonderful person and I can't just let her go. Lin would've wanted me to move on. 'I have to find her,' I say. I jump up. 'Thank you, Angie!' I call behind my shoulder as I run out of the door with just one thought in my head: _I have to find her_.

* * *

Jillian's POV

I knock on Angie's door. She doesn't open it: a couple of moments later George opens it. He's shirtless. Oops, did I interrupt something? 'Uh, I need to talk to Angie,' I blurt out. 'Is she there?'

'She's, uh, kinda busy,' he mumbles awkwardly. Then he notices how upset I look. 'Are you okay?'

Well, if I can't talk to Angie I could talk to George. 'No,' I say miserably. Drip, drip, drip, my tears trickle off my chin.

'Do ya wanta talk about it?'

I appreciate George's consideration; to me he's always been something like a little brother. I nod and he lets me in. He pulls on a shirt and then says, 'Now, what happened?'

I open my mouth to speak but instead I just start sobbing all over again. _Get a grip, Jill. _George looks unsure, watching me blubbering. Then he looks as if he's been hit with a sudden inspiration. 'Sit down,' he says, gesturing to the floor in the middle of the room. I kneel down. 'Cross legged,' he says. I obediently cross my legs. He's fiddling with the record player and it plays relaxing music - some Indian instrument whose name I don't know. 'Shut your eyes,' says George. I shut them. 'Now, breathe in and out. Concentrate on breathing deeply in and out, in and out.'

I concentrate on it. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. _Now, empty your mind of all other thoughts _... George's voice sounds like it's coming from a long way off. My thoughts wander a little. _Empty your mind ... _My thoughts begin to dissipate. _Empty your mind _... My thoughts disappear, leaving my mind wonderfully blank and clear. _Breathe in, breathe out. _Breathe in, breathe out.

_Now, open your eyes. _

I open my eyes and blink. I feel much more clear-headed now, sorted out and fresh. 'Did that help?' asks George. 'It was amazing!' I exclaim, already back to my usual hyper self. 'It helped me so much. I feel much better now.'

'Good,' says George. 'I find meditation helps clear yer mind, ya know? Puts everything in its place. Now, tell me what happened.'

I tell him slowly. He listens patiently. The smallest of creases appears between his thick eyebrows when I say that Paul shouted _Linda_. 'Jillian, do ya know who Linda is?'

I shake my head. _Some bitch who Paul loves more than me. _'Linda was Paul's wife of ten years. She died recently of breast cancer.'

I gape at him. Paul had a wife? A wife who _died_? And ... and I just got mad at him for missing her? Poor Paul! 'I - I didn't know,' I whisper. 'He must need time to get over her.'

'He really likes ya,' continues George. 'But he's still getting over Linda. Her death hit him hard. He feels guilty, because in his head, he's still married ta Linda.' George watches me carefully to see how I'm taking this. 'But ya can't leave him,' he says seriously. 'Before you came, he never smiled or laughed. He was way, way, way worse before he met ya. I can see how much yer helping his depression. Ya can't leave him now, Jillian.'

George's words help me realize what I've been thinking. Paul is a wonderful person and I can't let him go. I have to be here for him, help him move on. 'I have to find him,' I say. I jump up. 'Thank you, George!' I call over my shoulder as I run out of the door with just one thought in my head: _I have to find him. _


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you so much for the reviews! :))) So, this is a short chapter, I know. I'm not really sure how to go about this story, I've never done a Paul fanfic before :P Hope you like it though! **

* * *

**Getting Better**

**Chapter Nine: Let Me Be Your Ma**

Paul's POV

_I have to find her_.

Where could she be? I run out of the living room and yelp as I collide with Jillian. We crash into each other and then quickly pick ourselves up. We stare at each other stupidly for a second and then I remember what I have to do. 'Jillian!' I say, grabbing her hands. 'I have to tell you -'

'No, wait, Paul,' she says. 'Before that, I have to tell _you _something. It's super important!'

_Oh no, I can't let her say what she has to before me! What if she's going to break up with me? Well, we're technically not together yet. Focus, Paul! _'But, mine's really important too!'

'I know, but I just _have _to say this first!' she exclaims.

_No, no, no_. I can't let her speak! She can't leave me. I need to do something right now to stop her from saying those words. So I take her face in my hands and press my lips to her mouth, sealing her words in. She's so surprised that when I draw back she just gapes at me. I hope I haven't done the wrong thing.

'Paul, I ...' she stammers. No! I know that expression! That's the _I'm-sorry-but-this-won't-work _expression. 'Jillian, I'm sorry,' I blabber. 'I didn't mean to say her name, but I just felt guilty, because it's only been a few months, and I didn't know if it was okay, but now I know it's okay, and-'

This time it's Jillian who takes my face in her hands and silences me by pressing her lips to mine. And I'm so surprised that when she draws back, I just gape at her.

'I know, Paul,' says Jillian, taking my hands in her own. 'I know and it's okay. I'm okay with it. I'm willing to go as slow as you need me to.' She smiles suddenly, that beautiful white smile that makes dimples in her cheeks. 'Okay?'

I swallow. I didn't expect her to understand, but she does understand - she's accepting me, _with _the weight of my dead wife _and _my depression. That's the sort of thing you'd be an idiot to turn away. I put my arms around her, but instead of kissing her, I just hold her to me instead. Her red hair tickles my face.

Then I pull back from her and grin. 'Now,' I say, winking at her, 'where were we?'


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks for the reviews! :) **

**Note: I'm an existentialist, but this chapter is necessary to the story. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Getting Better**

**Chapter Ten: Mother Mary Comes To Me**

I drift into a happy, worry-free sleep with Jillian curled up by my side.

It's not so easy when I wake up in the middle of the night. I feel uneasy and - strangely - guilty. Something like what I used to feel in Hamburg when I was twenty-one and sleeping with unknown girls, never to meet them again. Or when I was cheating on Jane. Since my sleeping brain has been dwelling on this, I know the answer: Linda. Her face floats around me, sometimes smiling serenely, sometimes crying, or angrily hurt, or accusing. I shift uncomfortably away from Jillian's naked form. As much as I enjoyed what we did, I can't help but feel guilty.

How can I keep doing this? Happy when I'm with Jillian, guilty and depressed the second she's away?

But she's not away, she's right here in this bed. It's me who's caught between the past and the present, hopelessly entangled in my vows to Linda, and my newfound love for Jillian.

Eventually, I drift into an uncomfortable and uneasy sleep, at the other end of the bed, away from Jillian.

* * *

_The room is filled with golden light, too bright, but in an evenly distributed, glowing way. I sit up and rub my eyes and see a girl sitting on the edge of the bed. I get out and look to see that it's Linda, my Linda. She looks so much younger than when I last saw her. Her face is unblemished, unlined, youthful and glowing; eternal. Her pale blonde hair, that looked so dull and lifeless towards the end of her life, is golden and sunlit. She smiles serenely when she sees me. 'Paul,' she says. 'I've missed you.' _

_'And I've missed you, baby,' I say, when I find my voice. 'What are you doing here?' _

_'What am I doing? I just wanted to see you,' says Linda, stroking the bedspread with one hand. 'I noticed your new friend.' _

_My throat tightens and I instantly feel horrible guilt flooding me. I've betrayed her, my lovely wife, thinking she was gone, but she's here, isn't she? She smiles again, 'I'm not attacking you, Paul. I came to tell you,' her blue beautiful eyes lock with mine, 'that I approve of her. The redheaded girl - Jillian. I don't want you to feel that you still have to be faithful to me. I'm going to a new place now, where I won't be able to come visit you like this, and where I won't be able to watch you all the time. You're young yet, and I want you to be happy.' _

_I try to think of words, but the light in the room is getting brighter, brighter, brighter. 'I love you, Paulie,' says Linda, her voice sounds lighter and echo-y, and then it fades and the light makes everything blindingly white. _

* * *

I wake up and take in a deep breath, going over all that happened in my dream.

Then I look at Jillian, stretched out on the other side of the bed. Her red hair is awry around her peaceful sleeping face. I shift closer to her and put my arms around her. I kiss her forehead and pledge to be true to her for as long as we live.

* * *

Jillian's POV

You know those times when you wake up and you feel so unbelievably happy that you think you might die? This is one of them.

Paul's long dark hair falls in his face, which is all cute and scrunched while he sleeps. There's a shadow of stubble on his jawline and - whoa, a weird red mark on his neck. Where did that come from? I peer closer and realize what it is. Guilt immediately fills me, I hope I didn't hurt him too much ... A strand of my carroty hair falls from where I swept it behind my shoulders and lands on Paul's cheek. He stirs a little and then reaches up to flick it away. I sit super quiet and still and watch him waking up. First he scrunches his face up further, then he blearily opens his eyes. He reaches his hands up and rubs them, and then he yawns widely and freezes when he catches sight of me staring at him. Oops, it's rude to stare so I better stop doing it. He relaxes and grins. 'Morning,' he says sleepily. 'Whatcha doing?'

'Admiring my work,' I tell him, gently poking the red mark on his neck. 'Does that hurt?'

'Nah,' says Paul, trying to be all macho.

'Aww, shit. I'll try harder next time.'

'Uh uh. Next time?' Paul grins at me and then pulls me down to kiss me. I put my arms around his neck and kiss him harder, and then he's making me late for the first day of my job. 'I can't right now, Paul,' I say, giggling, but he whines and makes a puppy dog face. 'Ple-ease?'

'Alright,' I relent. 'But not long this time, okay?'

As I leave George's house with my coat and umbrella, I feel like there's a peace inside my Paulie that there wasn't before. And as I walk out of the door, I realize that I don't need my umbrella. Overnight, the storm washed away. The sun shines bright and beautiful and burns away all the rain.

* * *

**Cheesy, cheesy, I know. But then, this is a Paul fic :P Review please? :) -Jen. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks for the reviews :) Sorry I took so long to update. I couldn't think of anything. :/ **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Getting Better**

**Chapter Eleven: Here Comes The Sun**

Jillian's POV

'Stick to the beat,' the director calls over the music. He's pacing up and down the row of dancers as we spin and twirl and twist ourselves into identical motions. I feel a trickle of sweat running down my brow, is he looking at me? I can't mess this up, can't mess this up, can't. It's not easy to get a part in a play like this one - it's a musical, and a popular one too. That's why the director can afford to be choosy with his cast. Just yesterday, he threw out a handful of back-up singers and a dancer who couldn't lift her leg up all the way because of a sprain. I don't want to get thrown out. The dancer in front of me, a blonde-haired girl, moves effortlessly, sticking to the beat easily. I don't know why, I just can't seem to do it right today. My body, normally so easy to move, seems to drag. My muscles aren't as flexible, my movements not as smooth. Since when do I tire so easily?

'Take a break,' calls the director. Relieved, I sit on a stool and drink a whole bottle of Sprite. Other dancers smoke and swig energy drinks, but Sprite is my personal energy-upper.

'Jillian?' A dancer pokes my shoulder to get my attention, saying my name haltingly as though it's unfamiliar to her. 'There's someone outside who wants to see you.'

Surprised, I get up and walk barefoot outside. The midday sun beats down long and hard on my eyes and I look around, and see Paul standing in the shade. He's wearing a massive beard that hides his smirk, and black sunglasses that cover his hazel eyes. 'Paul!' I say, surprised and delighted as he gathers my tired body in his embrace. 'What're you doing here?'

'I was getting lonely,' he says plaintively. 'There wasn't any recording today, so I didn't have to go there.' He smiles and kisses me. 'How's your first day of practice?'

I'm delighted to see Paul, it's wiped the exhaustion out of my muscles, but I can't afford to miss practice - I'll lose my part. 'Great,' I say, beaming. 'A little tiring. Look, I've got to go now, we've still got three hours left. I'll see you for dinner, okay?'

'Okay,' he says, sighing. It's kind of heartbreaking. I give him another kiss to cheer him up - it works, because his face lights up as he walks away down the street. Once more I returned to the stage. The other dancers were getting ready to begin again. 'Alright, take it on the count of three!' calls the choreographer, who stands beside the director in front of all of us. 'One, two, three ...'

This time when I dance, my arms and legs are light and flexible and every movement is effortless.

* * *

Paul's POV

I wander through the streets, bored, waiting for Jillian's practice to end at six. I almost kind of regret that there's no recording today, because I don't have anything to do now. I can almost feel my happy-levels draining now that I'm away from Jillian. God, that sounds so gooshy. Like I'm not capable of surviving on my own. I've been on drugs before and this is the same kind of feeling.

But the last thing Jillian is for me is unhealthy. So I can't wait to indulge in my redheaded drug again, but till then, I've got nothing to do, nowhere to go. Without her, I'm a nowhere man. I wander past a clothes shop and see a creepy-faced mannequin wearing a pretty white summer dress. I imagine Jillian wearing that - the white straps around her shoulders, loose neckline clinging to her skin, her red curls against the fabric ... she'd look so much more beautiful in it than the mannequin. I go into the shop and buy the dress. Jane hated it when I bought her clothes and Linda was never a big fan of dresses. But I'm fairly sure that Jillian will like this.

And then I see the prettiest bunch of bright yellow flowers. I can just imagine her, wearing the white dress, with these yellow flowers spilling out from her red hair ... So I buy those too. Then I walk back home, with the sun shining brightly on my face, and wait for Jillian to come home.

* * *

I hang my coat carefully and kick of my shoes, relaxing my weary feet. Then I go quietly into the drawing room, where George and Angie are curled up on the couch, watching some psychedelic movie. They're both too entranced to do more than mumble a hello to me. I guess George has caught onto Angie's habit of never sleeping - it _is _eleven, far later than I told Paul, I remember with a guilty pang. 'Have you seen Paul?' I ask them. They shake their heads, staring wide-eyed at the screen. Rolling my eyes, I head towards the room I'm staying in and to my surprise, I find Paul lying across the doorway, curled up and fast asleep. I kneel down to wake him and then stop to smile at how cute he looks, scrunched up against the hard wood floor, his incredibly long eyelashes resting on his cheeks. 'Paul, wake up,' I murmur, brushing my lips against his ear. He sits up sleepily, then blinks his eyes rapidly as he sees me and grins. 'Jill!' he smiles, scrambling up and pulling me up with him. 'The door was unlocked, you know,' I tell him, giggling, 'you could've gone in!'

'I thought it would be more polite to wait outside,' he says, blushing. 'You told me you were coming home at six,' he adds, a little reproachfully. 'I got worried.'

'I had to stay longer, the choreography of the dance is really complicated,' I say tiredly. Funnily enough, most of my aches and pains have evaporated on seeing Paul. He picks up a bag from the floor, and shyly holds it out to me. 'Here, I got you something.' Butterflies swarm inside my stomach, and a warm blush creeps up my neck. 'You didn't have to,' I mumble, but I can't hide my smile, and I'm wondering what he got me. Is it jewellery? Is it skimpy underwear? What could Paul have seen in a shop that he thinks is the perfect thing to get his girlfriend? I peek into the bag and find a bundle of fabric nestled at the bottom: white fabric, a material called eyelet I think. I take it out and hold it up: a dress. A white summer dress. 'It's beautiful,' I gasp, it really is - a light, carefree dress, a dress for a casual day at the beach, a dress to wear in the summer sun. I throw my arms around Paul and kiss him. 'I love it.'

He beams. 'I'm glad you do. Go wear it, so I can see how it looks on you.'

I open the door to the room and then leave him sitting on the bed as I go into the bathroom to change. I leave my clothes folded up there and fumble with the thin straps of the dress before slipping into it. Then I survey myself in the bathroom mirror; its hem is floaty and reaches just above my knees, a white strap a little above my waist to give it a shape. Light, comfortable, still pretty. I run a hand through my crazy curls and then self-consciously step through the doorway.

Paul is sitting on the bed and humming, looking at a book I left next to my pillow. I stand there, unsure of what to say to get his attention. Before I need to say something, he looks up and wonder spreads on his face. 'It's ... you're ... you look beautiful.' He jumps up and looks me up and down, leaning into kiss me, but then he pulls away last second. 'Just one thing,' he murmurs, reaching behind his back and producing a bunch of bright, sunny yellow flowers. 'Yellow flowers,' I say, smiling. 'They're my favourite.' He tucks a handful behind my ear and the rest in the strap around my waist. 'There. You're beautiful.'

* * *

**I know the chapter name is slightly random ... it just felt right :P **

**Okay, I seriously need ideas for this fic, I'm beginning to lose inspiration. PLEASE SOMEBODY give me an ideaaaa. I hate leaving fics unfinished. **

**Thanks for reading :) -Jen. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you for the reviews! :) I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while. I'll be doing so more often now, I think I know where this story is going! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Getting Better**

**Chapter Twelve: Working Like A Dog**

Jillian's POV

'Alright, just once more before the lunch break!' I huff and shove the strands of hair around my face back into a bun before the choreographer calls, 'One, two, three, _and_,' and here we go again. Despite having been dancing for two hours straight without a break, I still revel in every movement, mustering all the grace and flexibility that I _know _I have. This is what I do, this is what I love: dancing. The pirouette that I spin out today is particularly tight and fueled; my feet and arms move perfectly in sync with the steady beat.

'Take five,' calls the director. Breathing deeply, I turn to walk offstage when someone says, 'Jillian.' I turn around again to see the choreographer, a woman with blonde hair pulled in a tight bun and cat-eye glasses. Celena Tristbeck, an renown dancer and choreographer, particularly hard to please, who throws out dancers for skipping half a beat or slacking their bodies between steps. I catch my breath. She can't be throwing me out! I've been working so hard and I _know _I'm a good dancer. What's more, I need money right now. How long can I stay with Angie and George? They're pretty chill with me staying with them, but I've got to get my own place sooner or later. As much as I love Paul, I need to get my feet back on the ground before I get too serious with him. There's no chance of my parents ever lending me any money - their eldest daughter, run away to New York to be a dancer! The disgrace brought to the family name - of course it's alright to enroll your daughter in ballet classes when she's four and looks cute in a pink tutu, but thirteen years of dance classes after school three days a week, recitals and performances and tests, and you get blown out of your shoes when she decides to become a dancer? Not only that, you decide to force her to attend medical school and flip out when she refuses. Do you really expect her to stay?

In the beginning, it was hard to get a job. I was living in a one-room flat shared with two other girls, both strippers in the club across the street. I had no choice but to join them, though it sickened me to use dance to seduce drunken slobs and then dodge their groping hands. Things got better when I befriended Angie and we found a flat together. And of course, after I got a proper dancing job, it was all great.

That was till job opportunities started running low in New York. So I came to London. After leaving it all those years ago. It's still home, kind of. But it's still a large city and I _won't _be sent begging to my parents. No, I can't lose this job!

'A moment, please, Jillian?' prompts Celena. Oh, right, she wants to talk to me. I go over to her. 'Yes?' I say, hoping against hope she's not going to fire me ...

'I have been watching you dance, and I think that you are quite right for the part of another musical that I am directing. Would you be interested? It's certainly well paying and a good opportunity to earn a name.' Her green eyes pierce me from behind those cat-eye glasses. 'I am offering you the lead role here. It would be a definite rise in your career.'

Well, turns out she's not throwing me out after all.

'I-I would b-be delighted to,' is all I manage to stammer out.

* * *

Paul's POV

I glance at the clock on the wall: half past seven. I told Jill I'd be out by seven and that she could drop by the studio to pick me up. Girlfriends and wives, however, are not allowed into the recording room, and never have been. This time inside the studio is _our _time. For the four of us to jam, fool around, eat, smoke, and produce masterpieces.

Currently, I'm not in the best of moods. Yoko just stopped us in the middle of recording one of ours songs, saying the lyrics didn't go well. Well ... she whispered it to John, who agreed a little _too _wholeheartedly. Who is that bitch to stop us in the middle of a recording? She has no right. I swallow my anger, though. I don't want to upset John - he's my best mate and I can tell he's really in love with her, however _that _happened.

Eventually, we're let out and I find Jillian sitting in the lobby. She looks tired, but when she sees me, she jumps up and throws her arms around me. 'Guess what!' she exclaims. 'I got offered the lead role in a dance musical. It's got super good pay and it's the swan song of my dance career and I can finally get my own place and I'm so happy, Paul!' She kisses me full on the mouth and then peppers my cheeks with kisses. I grin through her shower of happiness and affection and say, 'That's great, love! How are you going to manage both parts though?'

She laughs and shrugs. 'I'll manage, I know I can!' I beam, she's so driven and determined. Then she exhales. 'I'm so tired. Can we go home?'

'Of course,' I tell her, looping my arm around her waist. We start walking towards my car, and suddenly she stops short as a car passes in front of us and stops at the red light. We have a full view of the people inside the car and Jillian can't stop staring at them. 'No, this can't be happening,' she whispers to herself, her fingers suddenly vice-like around mine. 'Fuck it, I can't -'

'Jill!' I say sharply to get her attention, suppressing a stab of worry. 'What's wrong?'

She spins around so that the inhabitants of the car won't be able to see her ashen face as she whispers, 'That's my family.'

* * *

**This chapter was mostly about Jillian, but I've got a bit more of Paul coming too. Such as Paul's problems with Yoko and the Beatles. Also. Everything I say about Yoko isn't necessarily what I think of her, it's what I think Paul would've thought of her :P Given their ongoing feud and all that. Please review and tell me what you think I should add :) Suggestions are welcome! -Jen. **


	13. Chapter 13

**I know. I KNOW. I'm a horrible person. I don't deserve to have readers. Since I updated, it's been, what, two months? In my world, that is FOREVER to update. I just didn't have inspiration. BUT, we are back now! I shall be a GOOD person and UPDATE. I really don't have an excuse, not school work or anything, because I've been updating other stuff this whole time. Okay. I'm going to shut up now. **

**I've changed this chapter quite a bit, so even if you remember it, you might want to re-read it. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Getting Better**

**Chapter Thirteen: I Know I'll Never Lose Affection**

Jillian's POV

'That's my family.'

I see them through the window of the car: there's Mum, wearing her favourite beige coat, her hair in its normal flyaway state pinned back in a bun. Dad's in the passenger seat of the car, his hair a lot grayer than when I last saw him - so is Mom's - his moustache and beard are paler too. My brother, Max, is driving, his dirty blonde hair longer than ever. He, too, fought with Mom and Dad - he wanted to drop out of college, an expensive one in America, and they didn't want him to. I write to him, often - my argument was with my parents, not my siblings. He looks older, maturer. In the back seat next to my mother are my two sisters, Lucy and Emily. Lucy and Maxie have my mother's dirty blonde hair, while Emily and I have inherited our grandmother's flamelike curls. Lucy's eighteen - she writes to me too, she's engaged to a Liverpudlian boy named Jude whom she met in New York and going to move out soon, with my parents' consent and blessing of course. Emily, her long blonde hair done up as ever in two plaits, is in her final year at school, seventeen years old and the youngest of us four.

And there they are, sitting in the old dark-green car that we all used to go around in.

How strange to be seeing them after so long. I've been writing to all of my siblings, but their letters hadn't quite captured how - how much they've changed. And yet how same they are - going out for dinner maybe, or to visit someone, just as we might've before I left, so normal and - and - as if my leaving hasn't made a difference.

But I've been standing and ogling too long. Any second now, they can turn and ... and then I'll have to confront them. I'll have to face them, sometime. Preferably not now, but if they see me, I guess I'll just have to do it.

And at this very moment, my mother turns her face towards me. Her eyebrows contract as she looks closer - I think my face must be bloodless now - and then her mouth falls into a perfectly surprised 'O'.

Confrontation time?

Or, maybe, I could just run and hide.

Yep, that sounds good.

'Run!' I yell, grabbing Paul's hand, and we run as fast as we can.

* * *

Paul's POV

I wake up in the middle of the night, not surprised to find the space in the bed next to me empty.

When we reached George and Angie's, where I've been spending the night with Jillian for the past few days - huffing and puffing from running so much, though I have absolutely no clue why - Jillian wouldn't talk to me much. She wouldn't tell me what was wrong. All I know is that she saw her family sitting in a car, and now she's upset. I didn't know she has family issues. I assumed ... well, I didn't assume anything, really. I never asked her about her family. I decide that whether she wants to talk or not, it's my duty to make her feel better. So I get out of bed, feeling my way through the dark to the living room. My bare feet are cold on the floor. Jillian and Angie both sit on the couch, watching a movie. Angie has perpetual insomnia, so it's no surprise that she's not sleeping. She barely sleeps. I sit down next to Jillian and put my arm around her. She leans her head on my chest but doesn't look at me. Over the top of her head, I cock my eyebrows questioningly at Angie. She mouths, '_Family.' _Helpful. I give her a _what-about-the-family _look, but she just shakes her head. '_Talk to her_,' she mouths, then says aloud, 'I think I'm going to sleep now,' and gets up. She skims her hand lightly over Jillian's head and then mine as she passes. 'Night.'

When she's gone, I push my face into Jillian's fiery hair. 'Jill,' I say into it. 'Talk to me, Jill. What's wrong?'

Jillian sighs heavily and finally lifts her face from my chest, meeting my eyes. 'It's my family,' she says.

'What about them?' I say gently.

Jillian sighs again, and remains silent for a long time - which is very abnormal of her. 'When I was eighteen, I told my parents that I wanted to be a dancer. They hated the idea, they thought it was some kind of dirty whore job. They'd let me learn ballet for years, and then suddenly, whoa, being a dancer is the same as being a prostitute. Not that I think there's anything wrong with that. But still - and dancing's the one thing I really _get_, you know? It's my life. It's what I have to do - I wouldn't be happy doing anything else.'

I nod, because I understand her only too well - the same way that music is my life, and nothing else can fill the void that would open up if my music was taken away from me. I wait for her to continue, and after a moment she does. 'When I was eighteen, I ran away from London and went to New York. I told them I was just going to visit Max, who they _thought _was in college in New York - he'd dropped out without telling them. It was rough at first, but then I made it okay, and now everything's fine! It's just - when I didn't turn up, they called me on the phone, and I told them what I'd done, and ... My dad, uh, kind of yelled at me and called me a disgrace to my family, and a shameless stripper ... my parents are just very conservative, that's all,' she adds, with a hint of defence in her tone, as though I criticized them.

'No matter what they are, they've got no right to stop you from doing what you want,' I tell her, stroking her red curls. 'But now you _are _doing what you want. You're an adult. You don't have to do what they want or live with them, or anything, but maybe you could talk to them. It won't hurt to talk.'

'I don't know. I do miss my siblings,' Jillian admits. 'And I guess I kind of miss them, too.'

'Then you know what to do,' I tell her. Her brown eyes meet mine and she smiles, then wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me. 'You're the best, Paul,' she says, grinning. 'You're my best friend in the whole world.' I chuckle as she kisses me again and says, 'And you're the best boyfriend in the whole world.' She giggles. 'I'm so cheesy, aren't I? Jeez, that could've come out of a movie.'

'That's okay, love,' I assure her. 'It's all true.'

* * *

**Did you recognize Jillian's family? Didyoudidyou? ATU! So, to clear everything up in case you didn't get it - Jillian is Lucy and Max's older sister. And the younger sister, whose name we don't know, is called Emily. And they all live(d) in London, but then Max went to NYC to go to college, and Lucy went to visit him after Daniel died, where she met Jude, and all of that. Except, since I just decided to add all of this^, I haven't yet figured out why Jillian never met up with Max and Lucy while they were in NYC. Um. I will be working on that. **

**Please don't punish me for not updating by not reviewing! I swear I'll update really soon if you review! -Jen. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Only one review? :( Thanks for it anyway, Leah Holmes! :D **

**Sad Beatle stuff in this chapter. :S **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Getting Better**

**Chapter Fourteen: Times Like These**

I walk into the studio in a flat mood. I've been looking forward to recording less and less these days. Things have changed. With Jillian as my newfound inspiration, I've been in a creative mood and churning out song after song, but John's been going through a dry spell and lately, I feel like every time I present a new song, none of my band mates look at it as something new for the band to do, but as another of Paul's songs. John, being John, blows his top as often as he likes, which is more often than usual now; but that's expected of John. He barely pays attention to us in the studio, instead he's busy canoodling with Yoko or singing to her or discussing _our _songs with _her_. He never appreciates my work, only criticizes it; where is that bond we used to have, where we used to sit together, just us, and write songs that blew the world? Alright, I'll admit I haven't been the nicest to him - I can't help it if he thinks I don't like Yoko, because I _don't_. Any suggestion I make for a song he's written makes him think I'm trying to ruin it. Why on earth would I ruin his song?

It's not just John anymore. George, too, seems to have developed a deep dislike for me. If I ask him not to solo _quite _so much on a song, does that make me bossy and dominating? Just because I've written the most songs on this album, it doesn't mean I'm a selfish bastard trying to take over the band. George is quiet, but he's not a pushover, and more and more he's beginning to resent that John and I haven't always paid his songs as much attention as perhaps we should have. But we never looked at the songs as George's songs and John's songs and Paul's songs - we only tried to do what was best for the band.

And that's what I'm trying to do now. It's just that sometimes, it seems like I'm the only one who cares.

* * *

I press my face to the window of the cab as it turns up that familiar street. The leaves have begun to fall, but not fully. There's that house with the blue-shingled roof where grouchy old Mrs. Wicker used to live. Is she even still alive? And there's the house where Jim, my childhood crush, used to live. And there's the house where my best friend Cindy lived. And now here's my house. That tree in the corner of the garden. The wisteria vine tangling with the bougainvillea along the fence. Our old green car; a shiny blue one that's new. Mum's tulips and sunflowers bobbing their heads up to the sun. The cab stops, but I sit frozen on the seat. Paul reaches across and squeezes my hand. 'Come on, babe,' he says. 'No matter what happens in there, I'll be there for you.' I smile weakly at him and get out of the car.

I walk up the driveway holding Paul's hand so tight that he's pressing his lips together to keep from making a sound of protest, and lift the latch of the gate - it makes that same sound, the one that sounds like a startled squeak. At the doorstep, I stare at the doorbell for a long time. I never bothered with the doorbell when I lived here - I just walked around the house to the back. I glance at Paul for help. He reaches out to press the doorbell. 'Don't,' I whisper. He presses it anyway.

There's footsteps, then the door opens. It's Emily. Her jaw drops and I take in how much she's grown, her face has lost all of its childhood chubbiness, her long blonde hair done up in a bun. In a _bun_. From the moment she was old enough to speak, Emily had been adamant that she only ever wanted her hair in two plaits on the sides of her head. The fact that her hair is _not _done in two plaits, reminds me just how long I've been gone. I have only a second to stare at her before she squeals and flings herself at me. I'm pretty sure she's going to bowl me over but Paul puts a hand on the small of my back to steady us. When Emily finally lets go, she's beaming and I am too, and Lucy's just come down the steps to see what the commotion is.

She, too, looks older than ever. There's a new maturity in her eyes - a seriousness, from when her first boyfriend, Daniel, died in the war. I see a ring glimmering on her finger: she's engaged. She hurls herself at me too, and then both of them are looking at Paul with curious eyes, waiting for me to explain. 'Mum!' yells Lucy, 'Get over here, Jillian's here!'

'Jillian?' A female voice calls from the other room, and then my mother is standing there. I have only a moment to glimpse her ever-paling blonde hair, gradually aging face and blue eyes before she emits a kind of strangled squeak and crushes me in her arms. 'Mum,' I gasp, unable to breathe, but she doesn't let go. When she does, she just looks at me. 'Jill, why did you leave?'

And then the door opens again behind me, a man I recognize as my father walks past Paul to face me and says, 'I think we'd all like the answer to that question.'

* * *

**I realised that I made a few botch-ups in the last chapter. To clarify everything, they are all in London right now. I accidentally wrote that Emily had red curls in the last chapter, but I changed it (according to the Across the Universe characters) and she actually has long blonde hair. I know I'm a horrible person for not updating regularly, but it would make me super happy if you reviewed after reading this :) Also, it's my birthday, so it could be like a birthday gift. :D Thanks for reading! -Jen. **


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